


The Road to Sin City

by maaaaa



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23640817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Written in April 2005 for Sentinel Secrets Round 2 on LiveJournal. Theme "Blair and Jim are away from Cascade".
Kudos: 8





	The Road to Sin City

**Author's Note:**

> Written in April 2005 for Sentinel Secrets Round 2 on LiveJournal. Theme "Blair and Jim are away from Cascade".

Big Eddie’s Truckers Paradise looked pretty much the same as every other grimy gas station-greasy diner they’d passed since leaving Cascade, making it as good a place as any for Jim to pull over and metaphorically blow a gasket.

Sweetheart’s tires squealed as Jim hit the brakes and made a bat-turn maneuver with no warning to his glowering partner. Blair slammed against the passenger door and braced himself by stiffening his legs against the floorboard and planting an open palm on the dash. Jim pulled to one side of the parking area and stopped the truck.

Nasty looks ping-ponged back and forth between the two men, and each huffed and snorted, holding back unspoken remarks. The tension was thick enough to slice with a Swiss Army knife.

Jim gripped the steering wheel tightly and turned to stare straight ahead for a moment before dropping his forehead onto the wheel. Then he released the wheel and slapped his palms to his face, rubbing vigorously. He exhaled a low, throaty, “Arrrrrrrgh,” before swinging his head toward Blair and nailing him with a patronizing look.

“How the hell,” he ground out slowly, “can we be lost?”

The condescending look had been a wasted effort. Blair was checking that he still had all his body parts and was patting himself down reassuringly. The snarled accusation, however, hit the mark. He adjusted his glasses and turned toward Jim with his own indulgent glare.

“I don’t know,” Blair answered just as slowly, “you tell me.”

“The only thing you were expected to do was navigate,” Jim stated. “How hard can that be? It’s Las Vegas for cryin’ out loud.”

Blair’s eyes started a socket-samba as the younger man rummaged through the heap of papers, discarded junk food wrappers and empty soda cans strewn about the seat and floor. He finally came up with a crumpled sheet of paper and thrust it toward Jim, holding it about six inches from the detective’s face.

“Here,” he rattled the paper, “I printed out instructions from the net. It gives detailed directions from 852 Prospect to the goddam front door of the Bellagio. Every road, every highway, every turn; even the mileage from one point to the next. I showed it to you. I read it to you. I even had it taped to the dash when we started out. How’s it my fault that you didn’t listen, didn’t look at it---”

Jim snatched the paper, wadded it into a ball and flung it over his shoulder. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been a little busy driving,” he stated testily.

“Yeah, and why is that, Jim? Oh wait, I know. Because you decided to drive rather than fly and you decided no one but you could drive your precious truck and, oh, yeah, even if you had deemed me worthy to take a turn behind the wheel, I woulda been fightin’ to stay awake seeing as I had all of about twelve hours notice on less than six hours sleep in three days that my presence on this little foray to Sin City was imperative,” Blair spat out without coming up for air.

Jim rolled his neck, listening a little too intently to the sound of each and every vertebra snap, crackling and popping. His jaw muscles began twitching as he tried to block out Blair’s voice.

“Shut up,” he whispered.

Blair prattled on.

“Shut up,” Jim stated out loud as he stared off into space.

Blair kept right on blathering away, either not hearing or not caring to hear.

And then Jim really didn’t care any longer that maybe he was being an insensitive shit or that Blair was being overly dramatic. He latched on to the steering wheel, and felt every inch of sinew in his forearms grow taut as the muscles tensed, and his fists twisted around the padded leather covering forcefully until his knuckles turned white.

“Shut. Up!” he bellowed suddenly. “Would you please,” Jim turned toward Blair, “Just once in your life,” he ground out slowly, loudly, commandingly, “Shut. Up.”

Blair sucked in a deep breath and did, just like that. No finishing a thought, no last word, and no questions asked; he just stopped mid-sentence. He blinked several times, tucked a few strands of hair behind his left ear, and sat still, looking at Jim and past him at the same time.

Unresolved issues having nothing to do with their current predicament dangled in the air between them, just out of reach, with neither man wanting to make the grab that would pull them in and force them to hash it out.

Blair fumbled for the door handle, and yanked it hard with his right hand as he snatched his backpack from the floor with his left. He kicked the door open, hopped out and scanned the area for a minute. He took a step, and then as if in afterthought, nudged the door with his hip, and then kicked it the rest of the way shut with the heel of his left foot. He stomped off across the parking lot, heading toward the diner.

Jim waited a few seconds before he got out of the truck and walked around to the front. He leaned hipshot against the grill and crossed his arms.

“Sandburg! Get your ass back here!” he hollered, drawing the attention of every trucker and good ole boy in the parking lot.

Blair didn’t flinch, didn’t break his stride, and didn’t slow down.

“Go to hell, Ellison,” he stated calmly, knowing only Jim could hear him.

“Goddam it, Sandburg, get back here now!” Jim shouted again.

Blair continued walking, nonchalantly raised his left arm, and flipped Jim off.

Jim slammed the flat of his hand down hard on the hood and growled in frustration before getting back into the truck. He drove the few yards to the gas pumps and took out his frustration by wrestling with the truck’s gas cap and an uncooperative fuel nozzle for longer than was necessary and then rammed the nozzle into the truck’s side a few times before successfully guiding it into the gas tank’s opening. He leaned wearily against the side of the truck and concentrated on the sound of the fuel sloshing into the tank.

Blair entered the small diner and moved to stand next to one end of the long counter. Two men came in right after him and joined a small group at a table in the corner.

Blair looked around warily, and cleared his throat before speaking loudly to the room in general.

“Anyone here heading north or west? Maybe be willing to give me a lift?” he asked uncertainly.

Conversation stopped and all heads turned his way. One of the men who’d come in just after him spoke up.

“What’s a matter, sweetheart?” he asked chidingly, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “You and your boyfriend have a little tiff, didya?”

The man and his buddies snorted and laughed, as they elbowed each other and waggled their eyebrows at the longhaired outsider.

Blair shifted from foot to foot uneasily for a few moments, debating how to respond.

“Ri-iiight,” he answered, neither confirming nor denying the man’s assessment of what had obviously been witnessed outside. The last thing he wanted was to get into a battle of wits with the locals, especially when they were lacking ammunition.

“Leave him be,” a gravelly voice called out.

Blair’s head turned, along with everyone else’s, toward the figure connected to the voice.

“Don’t you pay them yahoos no mind,” the stranger advised in an amused voice. “I’m headed to Frisco, if you don’t mind ridin’ in a beat up ole pickup. Name’s Ned Forrester.” A wrinkled, weathered hand was extended toward Blair as Ned approached.

The yahoos responded with an assortment of guffaws and waves of dismissal, quickly losing interest in badgering the young man.

Blair grasped Ned’s hand and smiled warmly at the kind old face giving him a once over.

“Blair,” he responded. “Blair Sandburg. And I don’t mind beat up old pickup’s one bit,” he chortled.

“All right, then,” Ned pointed to an exit at the back of the diner and ambled toward it, motioning Blair to follow. “I’m parked out yonder.”

Blair shifted his backpack to rest more comfortably on his shoulder and turned to gaze out through the diner’s dirt streaked front window. He watched for a few moments as Jim fought with the fueling apparatus.

“I’m gonna hitch a ride back to Cascade, Jim,” he spoke softly, mistakenly assuming Jim would still be tuned in to him. “I’ll see you when you get back from Vegas. Maybe by then we’ll both---” Blair sucked in a breath, his throat suddenly feeling constricted.

Jim chose that moment to shake his head angrily, vexed at the gas pump, which was now refusing to spit out a credit card receipt. He threw up his hands in exasperation and stomped off to deal with the attendant.

Blair flinched, thinking Jim’s anger was directed at him and that the hand waving was Jim’s way of telling him to fuck off. A sour queasiness settled in the pit of his stomach as he watched Jim walk away without a backward glance.

“Ya comin’ young feller?” Ned called out.

Blair watched Jim’s retreat and grimaced, suddenly feeling petty and shitty.

“Comin’,” he answered as he turned and darted across the room and out the back door.

Ten minutes later, a cantankerous Jim Ellison stormed into the diner, ready to retrieve his grumpy partner and get back on the road. He placed his hands on his hips, scanning the Sandburg-free Zone.

“Damn,” he muttered irritably before clearing his throat loudly.

“I’m looking for my partner. I saw him come in here a few minutes ago. About so tall, “ he held one hand up to his shoulder and then moved it up an inch or so. “Long hair, a couple of earrings, motor mouth---“

One of the men in the corner spoke up. “Yeah, he was here. Left with crazy old Ned Forrester,” he added with an amused grin.

Jim frowned, not liking the curt description of this unknown person who the trouble magnet had wandered off with.

“Whaddaya mean, left with,” Jim asked warily.

The man continued, deciding maybe he’d have a little more of the fun he’d started with the longhaired kid.

“Said they was headed to Frisco. But I wouldn’t worry none. Ned’s mostly harmless. Does have a thing for pretty boys, though, “ he snickered.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the guy found himself yanked to his feet by two hands fisting the front of his shirt. He felt his knees go weak as he looked at Jim’s grim face.

“Which way did they head and what is he driving?” Jim demanded with a hard shake.

“W-west, they’d have to go west on 88,” the man stammered. “In an old rattletrap of a pickup, you can’t miss it.”

Jim released his hold and shoved the man, letting him collapse onto the edge of a table. He hurried out the door and had Sweetheart jettisoned out of the parking lot before the guy had a chance to recover from the move.

As soon as he was on the highway, Jim extended his vision, followed by his hearing. It didn’t take long to pinpoint the truck he was after. He snagged the light from under his seat and slapped it on the roof as he gunned the accelerator. Within a few minutes he’d narrowed the distance between himself and his quarry.

“Well, dangitall,” Ned said, noticing the flashing lights bearing down. “Me and Bessie here get pulled over at least once a month.” An affectionate pat was delivered to the scuffed up dashboard.

Blair looked over his shoulder and groaned when he recognized Jim’s blue and white pickup. He covered his eyes with one hand and slouched down into his seat as Ned maneuvered the truck onto the shoulder of the road.

Jim pulled up right behind the truck, nudging the bumper slightly. In no time at all, he was next to the other vehicle. He jerked the door open and without warning, latched on and dragged the driver out by the lapels of a threadbare denim jacket.

“Jim!” Blair shouted as he slid across the seat and out the door. “What the hell--?” He grabbed onto Jim’s forearm and began shaking it vigorously. “Let go, man!”

Several things dawned on Jim at the same time.

Blair wasn’t in any danger. In fact, he seemed in fine, true to Sandburg form.

Beneath the handfuls of material in his grasp there were body parts that he hadn’t expected.

And looking up at him with a pissed off, amused twitch of a smile, was a little old woman who had to be eighty years old if she was a day.

A warm blush crept across Jim’s face as he gently placed Ned on the ground.

Blair whapped Jim on the upper arm with the back of his hand and then turned toward Ned. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed the small figure.

“Are you okay, Ned?” Blair asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Ned?” Jim questioned with a confused look added to the pink flush that now spread to the tips of his ears.

“Nedra Forrester,” Ned chuckled as she appraised the lanky detective. “Hellava name to saddle a little girl with, huh?”

She winked at Blair. “I’m fine, Blair. In fact, I’m better’n fine. Aint’t had a man feel me up since my third husband Pete passed on.”

Jim’s blush deepened to red as he introduced himself, stuttering out an apology and a quick explanation of his rash actions.

“The ignoramuses that hang out at Eddie’s don’t have the collective common sense that God gave a tree stump,” Ned mused.

And then she gave the two men standing next to her a stern look, quirking one eyebrow as she took in their fidgety body language. All Blair had told her about needing a ride was that he and his friend had had a falling out. The way Jim had lit out after him when he believed his friend was in danger, and Blair’s hesitant glances at Jim, said there was a lot more to it.

“What’s your excuse?” she boldly prodded.

“Huh?” Blair’s eyes widened, feigning confusion.

“Look, it’s really---“ Jim began hesitantly.

“Oh hush up,” Ned cut in. “Now listen here. My grandpappy used to say something that’s stuck with me all these years. I can’t remember where he learnt it, but it goes like this. It’s okay to be angry, as long as your anger doesn’t lead to sin.”

Jim and Blair gave each other a questioning shrug.

“Seems to me, “ Ned continued, ignoring the shrugs, “You two are letting your anger at each other get in the way of your friendship.”

Ned laughed and shook her head. “Men.”

She climbed back into her truck and pulled the door shut. Then she leaned out the window and smiled sweetly before putting the truck into gear and taking off with an amused hoot.

Jim and Blair stared at the departing truck for a minute and then turned to face each other. They each opened their mouth to say something, but instead broke out sputtering with laughter. Jim pulled Blair into a headlock, and walked them to the truck, affectionately noogie-ing the top of Blair’s head.

“Not the hair, man,” Blair whined indignantly as he struggled to free himself.

Jim released his hold as they reached the truck.

“You wanna drive, Chief?” Jim asked.

“You sure?” Blair asked with a silly grin.

“Yeah, I could use the break,” Jim answered with a broad smile of his own.

Within a few minutes, Jim figured where they’d gotten off track, and they were back on the road, headed in the right direction.

They drove in silence for a few miles, admiring the scenery and relaxing into each other’s company before Blair began squirming a little and spoke up.

“You know, Jim,” he ventured with a gleam in his eye and a teasing hint to his voice. “I think Ned likes you.”

Jim shook his head and chuckled. “Shut up and drive, Sandburg.”


End file.
